Post by warren anthony castle on Sept 19, 2012 10:10:14 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true] |
I NEED YOU CLOSER, NEED YOU BESIDE ME. GOOD LOVE WILL FIND ME.
today was one of those days where warren could not be bothered to do anything in the slightest. usually he'd wake early and head to a spot to busk for a little change to keep him going but he was far too tired considering he'd spent half the night running and hiding from a group of thugs trying to mug him. he knew it was going to happen soon enough and luckily the only things that had been stolen from him were fifty dollars and the cigarettes that he had which goes to show that the group of people who took his things were a bunch of underage youths not old enough to buy their own nicotine. it angered warren but it wasn't as though it hadn't happened before, he just hoped hawaii may have been different although he wasn't even sure why. just 'cause it looked beautiful didn't change anything about society.
tugging his beanie hat over his greasy hair, warren then hauled his bag and guitar over his shoulders and headed toward the park for a place to catch some rest. he made no plans of sleeping during the day but sometimes it was nice to just sit for a while and not feel like there was anything to worry about. scuffing his shoes along the concrete as he walked, warren kept his head down to avoid making eye contact with any passers by, he hadn't seeing pity in another persons eyes when they looked at him. warren knew that being homeless was unfortunate but it wasn't as uncommon as people seemed to think, and hey, warren was doing this out of choice. sometimes even he forgot that he had that possibility of going back home to his family and his friends but just because of one man he refused to, then again it wasn't like you could blame him when warren's ribs seemed permanently bruised from where they'd broken not long before he left after having been quite literally thrown down the stairs in the home he shared with the other. every surface seemed to have had warren's blood painting at least once during the two years they'd lived there. how could the man go back to that?
warren followed the path into the park and spotted a nearby bench that was shaded by a tree, it looked fairly comfortable and so when he reached there he shrugged his bag off onto the floor and propped his guitar in its case up beside him. taking a seat, the male let out a yawn before he inspected the damages made to his clothes during the night's events. his t-shirt was torn at the sleeves where he was grabbed, the knees of his jeans were ripped apart from being caught up in fences trying to get away and his legs had been cut, a open wound beneath his right near only just began to sting as warren finally took notice to it. warren wished he had to guts to approach someone and ask for a little help, maybe for them to get him some water to clean the cut and then a bandage to wrap it in, but warren wouldn't dare. so he'd just sit here with a pained look on his face as he just waited for the pain to subside.
tugging his beanie hat over his greasy hair, warren then hauled his bag and guitar over his shoulders and headed toward the park for a place to catch some rest. he made no plans of sleeping during the day but sometimes it was nice to just sit for a while and not feel like there was anything to worry about. scuffing his shoes along the concrete as he walked, warren kept his head down to avoid making eye contact with any passers by, he hadn't seeing pity in another persons eyes when they looked at him. warren knew that being homeless was unfortunate but it wasn't as uncommon as people seemed to think, and hey, warren was doing this out of choice. sometimes even he forgot that he had that possibility of going back home to his family and his friends but just because of one man he refused to, then again it wasn't like you could blame him when warren's ribs seemed permanently bruised from where they'd broken not long before he left after having been quite literally thrown down the stairs in the home he shared with the other. every surface seemed to have had warren's blood painting at least once during the two years they'd lived there. how could the man go back to that?
warren followed the path into the park and spotted a nearby bench that was shaded by a tree, it looked fairly comfortable and so when he reached there he shrugged his bag off onto the floor and propped his guitar in its case up beside him. taking a seat, the male let out a yawn before he inspected the damages made to his clothes during the night's events. his t-shirt was torn at the sleeves where he was grabbed, the knees of his jeans were ripped apart from being caught up in fences trying to get away and his legs had been cut, a open wound beneath his right near only just began to sting as warren finally took notice to it. warren wished he had to guts to approach someone and ask for a little help, maybe for them to get him some water to clean the cut and then a bandage to wrap it in, but warren wouldn't dare. so he'd just sit here with a pained look on his face as he just waited for the pain to subside.
WORDS: 553 NOTES: waaah sorry this is overdue, hope it's not too shabby c:
